


Dirty

by theonewhohums



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Laundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:36:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhohums/pseuds/theonewhohums
Summary: Maka is the Queen of Dirty Laundry. Soul wants to kick out his shit-stain of a roommate. College is hard. (College AU)





	

**Author's Note:**

> After bitching about my laundry for hours I decided to write a more realistic Laundry Room AU. But alas, halfway through I reverted to my trash ways and turned it into fictional fluff. I am a disgrace.

Maka’s fingers are still slippery with drops of blue laundry detergent as she pats herself down for her keycard. She knows that she brought it with her, but it’s not in her cardigan pocket, and the damn skirt she’s wearing doesn’t even _have_ pockets, so where is it?

She checks under her laundry basket, on the floor, and is opening the door to her washing machine to practically crawl inside of it when she hears a low voice from behind her.

“Hey, Albarn, you lose something?”

“Eeah!” she squeaks and smacks her head on the inside of the machine, cursing herself silently for being such an embarrassment. When she finally extracts herself from her machine full of dirty clothes, she sees a familiar hand holding out her keycard.

“Oh my God, _thank you_ , Soul. Where was it?”

Soul drops his laundry empty laundry basket on top of a washer with five minutes still to go on it and jerks a thumb towards the hallway. “Back in the stairwell. Musta dropped it when you were walking down here.”

Maka goes over to the electronic pay station and swipes her Death City University ID down, pressing the numbers one, two, and three and hearing her machines whirring to life.

“Shit, Maka. That’s what, like three machines? Do you ever do laundry?”

The answer to that was a firm no, of course. Before her parents split she used to go home to do laundry almost every week, but now with her father parading around his new bachelor pad in his underwear all the time Maka has made the choice to do her laundry at school.  And hauling her laundry down three floors to the basement of her dorm every week is such a pain, so why not just wait until she runs out of clothes and wash them all at once? She tells Soul this, and he looks at her like she’s grown another head.

“And you call _me_ lazy.” She tries to protest but he’s already barking out a laugh. “I guess that explains the skirt too, doesn’t it?” His voice is an octave higher when he laughs, something that Maka can’t take the time to appreciate when he’s aiming his jokes at her. “You’re out of clean pants, aren’t you?”

The angry blush creeping across her cheeks as she looks down at her knee-length navy skirt confirms this, but little does Soul know that the skirt serves two purposes, since she’s also out of clean underwear. She presses her knees together unconsciously and growls at him.

“Hey, hey, I didn’t say I didn’t like it! It looks nice! Not that sweats and a tshirt isn’t a good look for you, but—”

She cuts her friend off with a pinch to the arm that makes him yelp. He’s referring to freshman year, when they met in an English comp class that neither of them wanted to take. (Maka was enraged because she clearly didn’t need to take 101, she was an English major for fuck’s sake; she already understood basic grammar. Soul just didn’t like that it was a required class. Maka believes his exact words were “fuck this shit, I have autocorrect and spellcheck to know grammar and spelling for me.”) Since the God-forsaken class was at eight in the morning, Maka was not keen on dressing up for class. In fact, on days she was so inclined, she didn’t even change out of her pajama pants. That’s what college was all about, right?

“I have changed a lot since freshman year, jerk,” she says and smacks his arm lightly.

“Sure, sure, because now you were skirts.”

She considers hitting him again when his laundry machine finally buzzes. Soul pops it open and pulls out a pair of boxers with a frown.

Maka presses her palms to her rumbling machine and lifts herself onto it, smoothing her skirt down and scanning Soul’s annoyed face. “What, stains won’t come out?” she says with a teasing smile.

Soul’s expression deepens into a glare when he turns and displays the light blue boxers with little skeletons on them. In the center of the butt area is a big brown spot.

Maka almost falls off her machine, screeching out a laugh and doubling over at the sight of the giant stain and Soul’s deathly expression, and she can’t tell if it’s her or her machine that’s shaking so much.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” she says, though she’s still crying from laughter. “I was just joking. I didn’t know you actually shat your pants!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, asshole, but it’s not a shit stain. It’s my shit stain of a roommate.”

She’s surprised she can still speak through her gasps. “Did Black Star poop in your boxers?”

“ _No,_ he decided to pour a bunch of chocolate pudding in my dresser. Part of a frat prank or something. And now the stains won’t come out.”

Because Maka is a mature adult, she finally calms her guffaws down to snickers, rubbing her eyes with the meat of her palm. “Well, that’s what you get for having him live with you instead of dumping him with his brothers.”

Soul throws his boxers back in the washer. “Well, fat chance if I’m letting that happen again. I’m leaving his ass next semester, I swear to God.” He turns to her. “Let me come live with you, please? You have a single, don’t you?”

She snorts. “I could never live with you. I’ve seen your room, Soul. I’d die among the junk.”

“Says the Queen of Dirty Laundry.”

She pouts. “While that may be true, at least my room hasn’t developed a _smell._ ”

“It’s not me! It’s Black Star!”

She cocks an eyebrow at that. “Oh really? So you’re telling me that if I sniff you right now, you won’t be the least bit stinky?”

He looks unsure of her. “You’re not really gonna smell me, are you?”

But she’s already jumping off her machine and lifting up his arm while he squawks. She pretends to stick her nose under it, but settles for drumming her fingers across his ribs in a way that has him shaking with laughter which she knows he secretly loves. She abuses his ticklish spot for couple moments before Soul pushes her at arm’s length away, gasping and smiling like an idiot.

“I. Hate. You,” he lies. “And I would totally get you back if I knew you wouldn’t give me a black eye for tickling you.”

“Smart man,” she quips, gliding around him in her last pair of clean socks and opening up his machine once more.  “And I suppose I could let you know that you don’t actually stink. At least not now.” Soul crouches next to her and bumps her with his hip, and she returns it. She glances into the washer and whistles, low and long. “Well damn, he got all of your underwear, didn’t he?”

Soul just mumbles something the sounds like “fuck Black Star” under his breath.

“Alright, how about I help you get these stains out, and then you can pay me back by carrying all my laundry up to the third floor for me.”

He looks at her indignantly. “How is that a fair trade? I have to do a bunch of heavy lifting just to _borrow your Spray ‘N Wash_? You’re stronger than me anyway!”

Maka smiles. “Yes, but I also have a single with an extra bed. I’ll let you spend the night. And pick the movie we watch. Deal?”

Soul looks beside him at her three machines, looking a little intimidated. But when he looks back at the chocolate covered boxers in front of him he sighs.

“Fine, but you’re helping me fold these.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally published 9/25/15)


End file.
